The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness
by Nytd
Summary: Barbossa is finding himself quite preoccupied with the woman he's kidnapped, whether he's awake or asleep. A steamy 'lost chapter' from Memories of May, and a fun excuse to write smut for a challenge, that's now become more than one chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This was written in response to a challenge by JackySparrowsRum to write a Barbossa-centered smutfic.

Those of you who have read my _Pirates of May_ series will recognize that this is a scene that fits into the days between when Turk awakes from his coma after the amputation, and the arrival of the _Rogue Wave_ in Tortuga. The story of the kidnapped lady doctor that Barbossa comes to fancy after she saves his bo'sun Turk should be easy enough to follow even without having read the rest.

While those of you familiar with my writing know that I typically keep things limited to tasteful innuendo and playful insinuations, all I can say about this little oneshot is _mind the rating__**.**_ This is Barbossa, this is smut, and it's rated M for good reason! Ye've been warned, but I hope you find the naughty humor intended in this if you read on!

--

**The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness ~*~**

--

Barbossa slouched in his chair, letting his head fall against the back with a sigh of contentment that ended in a soft groan of pleasure; one arm dangled languidly while the other hand held a pewter cup of the finest black rum. He was in danger of spilling the drink as it slipped gradually from his fingers in small increments, but as he closed his eyes and moaned softly again, he was too distracted by what the fetching blonde on her knees before him was doing to give a bilge rat's arse about the rum.

Rum he could get more of at any time that he wished, but when was the last time a woman had done this for him?

None too recently.

And a woman such as this one?

Never.

Barbossa opened his eyes just long enough to glance down at the cascade of golden hair spilling across his lap and unconsciously wove the fingers of his free hand through her silken tresses, smiling to himself and letting his eyes close as his head fell back once more against the chair.

It was a dream – he knew it was, for the chances of the well-bred, educated, yet slightly naïve young physician having ever pleasured a man in this way were next to none in waking life, never mind the way she was currently sucking his cock like a seasoned Tortuga whore.

At the moment he didn't care that it was a dream, as long as it didn't end too soon and leave him lying awake, unsatisfied in both his dreaming life and his waking one. Judging by the way he was reacting as she moaned softly herself and redoubled her efforts, this dream really only needed to last another minute.

Panting like an overheated dog as she drew him closer to the edge, he was only vaguely aware of his own fingers partially crushing the cup he held, leaving the soft metal deformed and rum spilling over his hand. He dropped it at last, forsaking it to weave his wet fingers tightly into her hair alongside his other hand, trembling and gasping as she upped her tempo and that of his pulse.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," he gasped, sitting up involuntarily. His breathing became ragged for the last few seconds, and he uttered a feral, wordless snarl, even as his climax spilled from him and beyond her full lips, which were so eagerly encircling his hard flesh.

He hung his head, panting still as he rode out the wave of intense pleasure, groaning softly one last time as she gently withdrew, trailing her lips along his smooth skin.

Utterly spent, he collapsed back into the chair, savoring her soft warmth as she settled herself onto his lap and caressed his cheek.

When he opened his eyes he was looking about his cabin, dimly lit by a small shaft of morning sun, and he determined through the haze of first waking that the dream was over.

Which left him with a bit of a problem, he realized, after lifting his head from the pillow and gazing southward. Apparently his brain hadn't differentiated for his cock that it was only in the dream that he was getting blown, and his expectant member was clearly more awake that the rest of him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, letting his head fall back against the pillow again.

This had to stop.

Not that this sort of thing didn't happen on occasion, especially after such a vivid dream, but it had been a constant and frustrating occurrence ever since she'd come aboard his ship.

He smiled wickedly to himself as he lay there. Actually, she hadn't _come_ aboard his ship yet, but that was something he was more than willing to remedy for her if he could finagle himself the opportunity.

Which he definitely planned to do, but it was taking all the skill and restraint he possessed to this point to reel her in one small step at a time, ensuring that he gained her trust and didn't frighten her off.

Of course, he wanted her for more than purely physical reasons, which was why he was taking such care with making sure that she trusted him, but he had to admit he wouldn't be opposed to having her in his bed sooner rather than later. Perhaps then he'd then have a more appealing way to deal with the needs of the overeager entity below decks.

Urgent pounding sounded at the door to his cabin, and irritated at the amount of noise being made so early in the morning, Barbossa bade the monster below his beltline to be patient just a bit longer, and it slunk reluctantly off to slumber once more, as he dragged himself out of bed and snarled at the knocker to enter.

Turk yanked the door open and all but barged into the cabin.

"Yeh need to do somethin' about this situation!" he demanded, obviously annoyed.

"What situation?" Barbossa asked, looking over the bandages on what was left of Turk's recently mangled arm, and drawing a shirt on over his head.

"That woman!" Turk grumped.

"I assume ye mean Doctor Gray," Barbossa replied calmly as he sat and drew on his boots.

"Yeh seen any other friggin' women aboard this ship recently, Barbossa?" Turk continued grouchily. "'Course I mean her!"

"And what about her has ye so unsettled, Master Turk?" Barbossa asked, leaning back in the same chair he'd just dreamed about and folding his arms across his chest.

His thoughts drifted momentarily to how the dream had started with Madeline sitting in his lap in this very spot, her arms wrapped tightly about his neck as she kissed him hungrily. He'd had the cup of rum in one hand, and the other was casually fondling a firm breast, and she'd pressed herself against him harder and moaned against his mouth when he'd managed to slip his hand inside her dress and began running his thumb back and forth across a deliciously responsive nipple...

"...we get to Tortuga!" Turk was saying.

"What?" Barbossa asked, emerging from his distraction.

"She says I'm not fit enough to go ashore when we get to Tortuga!" Turk repeated impatiently.

"I reckon she'd know best," Barbossa replied absently.

"Yeh can't mean that!" Turk interjected, clearly becoming more upset. "Do yeh know how long it's been since I've properly bedded a wench?"

The same amount of time as himself, Barbossa figured. It had been even longer since he'd had a woman pleasure him in other ways, which was probably the reason for the dream he kept considering. He thought again about how she'd gently removed his hand from her dress and slipped from his lap, dropping to her knees on the floor between his. His hopes of what she might be up to were realized when she'd smiled at him sweetly and gone to work undoing his breeches and then gently tugged them open.

"Well, I'll tell yeh how long it's been," Turk continued.

Barbossa knew just how long, and _how hard_ it had been by the time her delicate fingers had started teasing with feathery strokes, and he'd sunk back in his chair in sweet surrender to let her have her way with him.

"Too friggin' long!" Turk said, completing the answer to his own question

"Aye, tell me about it," Barbossa said in a commiserative manner, "but if those be the doctor's orders, than I reckon I'm not about to contradict what she thinks is best for what's left of yer bloody carcass."

Not in a million years, he thought, if there might be some remote chance she might actually wrap those lovely surgeon's fingers around his cock the way she'd done in his dream. Of course, being a surgeon, she probably preferred a more anatomically precise word than _cock_, but if she preferred _penis _to _cock_, or _phallus_ to _prick_, he didn't really care, as long as it was his anatomy she was wrapping those sensual lips around.

"Yer the fuckin' captain - yeh could override her!" Turk said, a measure of panic slipping into his words.

Oh, how he'd like to override her.

Barbossa shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not sayin' anythin' that'll lessen yer chances of getting' back to bein' anythin' close to useful again, ye great bloody ox."

Turk opened his mouth to reply, closed it, opened it to try again, and then shut it once more as a look of suspicion replaced the look of horrified disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at his captain as he spoke.

"Yeh don't want to make her mad, 'cause yeh think it'll lessen yer chances of gettin' under her skirt, don't yeh?

Barbossa took on a wounded expression. "Here I am, worried about yer health and welfare, and ye accuse me of bein' concerned with naught but chasin' a piece of arse."

He purposely failed to mention that he also didn't want to jeopardize his chances of getting her in the brig and playing the game of _Captured Randy Pirate Captain and Oh So Naughty Admiral's Daughter_ that his unconscious brain had come up with two nights ago.

"I think there might be other parts of her besides her arse that yer concerned with as well," Turk said accusingly, starting to grin. He knew Barbossa well enough to know almost exactly what was on his best friend's mind. "I might have missed a few days, but I've been awake after me injury long enough to see the way yeh look at her."

Barbossa smirked a little. "And just how might that be?" he asked.

"Like a starvin' man starin' across the room at a feast," Turk replied.

Which was only fair, Barbossa thought, knowing the way she'd feasted on him in the dream. He rolled his eyes at his bo'sun, trying to dismiss his accusation, but Turk spoke up again before he could say anything.

"Don't yeh roll yer eyes at me, Hector. I've known yeh too long. Yer after that sweet little thing, an' yeh know it!" He yanked out a chair and sat down, tired after getting worked up so soon after his devastating injury. "Bloody hell. Since I've been conscious again I've seen yeh friggin' holdin' doors fer her and pullin' out her chair and shit."

Barbossa gestured at him dismissively again. "'Tis merely the proper way to treat a proper lady, Turk."

He smirked to himself in his mind. But proper ladies didn't _swallow_ and_ like it_, now did they?

"And since when does a rogue like you concern himself with how properly a lady should be treated?" Turk demanded, the grin on his face undiminished.

Barbossa scowled. "Since she saved yer pathetic arse and has behaved in an honorable way aboard me ship, that's when."

"So, she means nothin' to yeh?" Turk asked skeptically.

"She's nice enough, and like any other pirate aboard this ship, I'd not kick her out of me bunk, but..." Barbossa shrugged indifferently.

"I see," Turk said, appearing thoughtful for a moment. "So, yer sayin' that it doesn't matter to yeh that she's out on deck at the moment laughin' and flirtin' with Bellamy?"

"_What_?"

Turk chuckled deviously as he stood, knowing he'd gotten the reaction he was seeking by the unhappy look that had just crossed Barbossa's face. "We'll discuss later how yer gonna take my side in the shore leave matter, so I don't inform yer proper lady that she has a notorious pirate lord lustin' after her sweet little cunny-warren."

"Get out," Barbossa snapped, despite the fact that Turk was already halfway out the door, chuckling to himself as he went.

"Damn," he swore to himself. Was it that bloody obvious that he wanted her, or did Turk just know him that well?

Deciding that the reason he followed hot on Turk's heels had to do with the fact that he needed to check their heading, and nothing to do with him being concerned that handsome young Bellamy was getting a little too familiar with _his_ kidnapped lady doctor, Barbossa perched his hat upon his head as he strode out on deck.

Sure enough, there across the deck was that blasted Bellamy, talking to Madeline and even worse, saying something that made her laugh. Making a supreme effort, he kept his pace casual as he crossed to where the two were conversing.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly.

Knowing he shouldn't be standing around idle in front of the captain, Bellamy wisely excused himself and headed below deck.

"Oh, good morning, Captain," Madeline said back with a brief smile.

Barbossa noted that her eyes flashed away from his just a touch too quickly, giving away that he clearly still made her a little nervous. If she ever had any idea of how much he wanted to pin her against the mainmast a few feet away and rip the buttons off her bodice with his teeth, she'd probably be more than a little nervous.

She spoke with him for a while, at last excusing herself to go and see to a crewmember who had cut his hand the night before. Barbossa watched her go, surreptitiously eyeing the subtle way her skirts swayed with her hips until Turk's elbow caught him firmly in the ribs, startling him out of his musings about parting her from her dress.

"Stop droolin'," Turk said with a chuckle, earning himself a glare that might have caused another pirate to take a large step back before he continued on.

--

The vivid dreams continued to plague Barbossa as they reached Tortuga, brought on, he was sure, by the close proximity they'd shared in the past few encounters; May working in silent concentration as she translated the Latin on Morgan's map, with him stealing occasional sideways glances at her cleavage as she leaned over the chart next to him.

Once or twice she'd brushed against him as she'd reached forward for the ink or quill, her breast grazing his arm in the most innocent and unintended way, and he was glad she didn't realize, as he felt her enticing softness and caught the scent of her hair, how close she'd come to joining the map on the table while he had his way with her.

The dreams were starting to interfere with anything in the way of restful sleep, with as much as they were causing him to bolt awake during the night, drenched in sweat and as randy as dog around a bitch in heat.

Even Turk had raised an eyebrow at one dream, once Barbossa had finally begun confessing his apparent obsession to his long time friend.

Last night's vivid dream had been one of the worst, and had involved him grabbing her roughly from behind, hiking her skirt and shagging her bare-arsed where he'd thrown her across one of the ship's guns. It had also been one of those rare enthralling ones when he'd imagined her liking things rough, and he'd been only too happy to comply when she'd begged him to take her hard, grabbing her hips and driving her mercilessly against the cannon.

Turk let out a low whistle. "Quite the vivid imagination yeh have there, Cap'n."

"Ye've no idea," Barbossa said. "'Tis drivin' me mad, and I've not slept properly in a week because of these blasted dreams waking me. I've no idea what to do to stop it."

"I think yeh just need to take matters into yer own hands, Hector," Turk offered.

"Like I haven't be doin' that enough lately," Barbossa said with exasperation.

Turk grimaced. "That is _not_ what I meant, and thanks so much fer puttin' that image in me head."

"Apologies," Barbossa muttered from where he pressed his palms to his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"What I meant is it's time yeh stopped fuckin' around and started...well," Turk hesitated and then shrugged, "fuckin' around."

Barbossa looked mildly exasperated. "And how do ye propose I do that? The lass is scared to death of me. And as much as most of me thinkin' concernin' her has been done below decks rather than above," he added, with a meaningful glance at his lap, "ye know I'd not do aught to harm her."

Turk grinned. "So, what's it worth to yeh to know what she said when she changed my bandage?"

Barbossa made no attempt to hide his surprise. "She spoke about me?"

Turk nodded. "Said you was '_a bit intimidating, I suppose, but on the other hand, really rather intriguing_,'" he replied, imitating May's precise manner of speaking.

A sly grin slowly crossed Barbossa face. "She thinks I'm intriguin', does she?"

"And she said yeh could be quite charmin' –fer a pirate of course," Turk added with a laugh.

"Well, then it's time I showed the lass just exactly _how_ charmin' I can be." Barbossa rose from the table and headed for the door, pausing and then retrieving his hat from the table. "Can't ferget this," he said with a roguish grin, and he strode out to find the lady doctor, perching the plumed hat upon his head at a jaunty angle.

~*~

**A/N:** The title is actually a quote from the works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) U.S. poet

Cunny-warren is an actual outdated term for cunt from the 18th century and seemed exactly like something Turk would say.

While feedback is always appreciated, for those of you who are voting to determine the outcome of this little duel, vote under the Barbossa's Lovelife thread at the Broken Compass. Freedom will do the tallying, and only votes on the thread will count.

Special thanks to Freedom, for beta-reading for me as usual, but also for holding my hand along the way and convincing me that not only could I write something naughty, I could actually post it! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** The first chapter was so much fun to write, that I couldn't resist posting another 'lost scene' from the story as we know it from May's POV. I suspect there'll eventually be one or two more.

**~Chapter Two ~**

--

Tortuga.

Land of decadence and debauchery, of wantonness and corruption, of depravity and iniquity, and the place where a ship full of swag-laden pirates could participate in all of the above if they were willing to part with enough gold.

Except for Turk, that was. Not that he wasn't willing to spend a fair bit of coin and partake of all the sinful luxuries that Tortuga had to offer, no, the problem was that he was only a week and a half into his recovery from losing half of his arm, and the good doctor who had saved his life had decreed that he should remain aboard the ship and rest.

Bloody fuckin' hell! He'd rest when he was dead. If he didn't have reason, after narrowly escaping death, to celebrate with rum, and song, and a salty wench, or maybe two...hmm, or maybe two at once...

No matter - he was being held prisoner aboard the ship, and fuck him if friggin' Barbossa didn't agree to the idea.

Turk grumbled to himself, knowing full well that if it weren't for the fact that his best friend and captain was trying everything in his power to part that little blonde doctor from her petticoats, that he'd have been the first one to drag him into town for a celebratory night of dining, wining and wenching.

Bugger.

Turk was brought out of his reverie of self-pity by the fact that the _Rogue Wave_ appeared to be getting too close for comfort to one of the notorious submerged shoals of the tricky inner harbor of Tortuga, and he decided to hurry to the quarterdeck to see what was going on.

--

Barbossa stood on the quarterdeck, his hands upon the wheel, guiding his beloved _Rogue_ past the treacherous entrance to the harbor of Tortuga. He happened to glance down at the deck and caught a glimpse of where Madeline was speaking with Harlow, evidently discussing the list of medical supplies she wanted him to get while ashore.

Merda! Now if that wasn't a fine sight indeed, he thought. She must have dropped the list in question, and she had bent over to retrieve it, giving him a fine view of the way her skirts draped over her derriere as she did so. What he wouldn't give to get his hands on that sweet arse of hers, among other things.

He continued to stare at her after she righted herself and handed the list back to Harlow, compiling his own wicked list. Aye, he'd like to have that skirt off her and his hands roaming over her smooth, soft curves; maybe surprise her with a little slap on the rump.

Ah, yes, a spanking. Now, that was an entertaining line of thought.

He smiled wickedly to himself, still contemplating the woman on deck, thinking how marvelous it would be if it ever turned out that the well-mannered, prim and proper doctor found herself liking being turned over his knee and...

"Bloody friggin' hell!" Turk cried next to him, tearing him away from his naughty daydream. "Reef dead ahead!"

Barbossa started at the sight of the shoal he'd been ignoring while fantasizing about Madeline naked across his lap, and spun the wheel hard to port, causing the ship to lurch a little as they barely cleared the rocks.

"What the fuck are yeh doin' up here?" Turk demanded, and then he caught sight of Madeline on the deck below, where Harlow had grabbed her and kept her from falling. "You was watchin' that pretty little bird again, weren't yeh?"

Barbossa shot a slightly sheepish glance at Turk and took care that they avoided the next shoal.

"Blast and bugger me, Hector!" he scolded quietly. "Yeh nearly piled us up on those rocks. Some grand impression that would've made if yeh'd sunk the friggin' ship! Can yeh imagine the looks on Villanueva's and Ching's faces when they found out?"

"Calm yerself, Turk," Barbossa replied, after barking orders past him for sails to be reefed. "Ye shouldn't get all riled up –yer supposed to be _restin_'."

Turk didn't miss the smirk Barbossa wore. "Yeh still have to do somthin' about that, Hector," he pleaded more quietly. "Do whatever it is yeh think yeh need to do to drop yer anchor in her harbor," he said, nodding in the direction of where Madeline still was speaking with Harlow, "but yeh can't seriously plan on keepin' me confined to the ship with all those fine tits waitin' fer me in town."

Barbossa chuckled and shook his head. "I'll see what I can do. We wouldn't want all those fine tits to go to waste because ye didn't make it to shore."

Turk finally broke into a grin when he realized that Barbossa was going to take his side of things. "Nah, we wouldn't want that. 'Course, I do have to say," he added, jerking his head in the direction of Madeline and Harlow, "that there's nothin' wrong with the pair on that little Wiltshire kitten down there."

Barbossa instantly shot Turk a dark look and the tall pirate laughed and held up his remaining hand defensively. "Easy, mate. I'm jus' sayin' is all," he said pleasantly, "or hadn't yeh noticed?"

Barbossa sighed heavily, glancing once more at the woman on the deck below, and the cleavage that the low-cut green dress she'd found in that Beckett bitch's trunk was showing off to it's best advantage. "Aye, I've noticed."

Oh, and he had noticed, hadn't he? Although, he had made it a point to be discreet about the glances he'd stolen when in close proximity to her. Even at dinner the next night, when the stress and strain of being held prisoner aboard a pirate ship had caught up with her, and she'd furiously told him exactly what she'd thought of him, he'd tried to refrain from watching the way her breasts heaved against the material of her dress when she'd leaned both hands on the table and berated him.

When Turk had finally turned in early, still not fully recovered from his injuries, despite what he insisted, Barbossa had been left alone in his cabin with nothing but the remnants of a bottle of rum, and time on his hands to think about May some more.

Resting his head against the back of his chair, he soon found himself drifting off to daydream about her yet again. The scenario that played out in his head involved her returning to apologize to him for yelling at him earlier, and in the unlikely but entirely appealing version that his mind concocted, she offered to make good for her affront in _any way_ he saw fit.

He patted his thigh, indicating he wished her to seat herself there, and she readily complied with his request. "Is that so bad?" he asked her, softly teasing as he wrapped one arm around her waist.

She merely shook her head, looking contrite and demure in an appealing way.

"A lot of names ye called me earlier, Miss Gray," he admonished her, reaching with his free hand to gently move her long hair so it fell back over her shoulder, uncovering the low neckline of her dress.

"What would you have from me to make amends for that?" she asked, clearly leaving the door wide open for him to ask for whatever he wished. He made no attempt to hide the appraising look he gave her chest, and instinctively she headed in the direction he wished, reaching with delicate fingers to undo the first two buttons on her bodice.

She watched his reaction, while he watched her fingers, and when she saw the intense look he met her eyes with briefly, she smiled. "Another?"

"Aye," he croaked, captivated by what she was doing, and he watched her unfasten another button and expose more flesh.

"Another?" she asked playfully, and this time he merely nodded and monitored the next inch of her dress that came open. She paused, likely tormenting him a little, and waited for him to speak.

"Undo the rest," he ordered her very softly, and when she'd finished with the last few buttons, she slowly drew back the loosened fabric of her bodice, gradually revealing smooth shoulders, supple arms and at last, shapely firm breasts.

His eyes drank in all her exposed flesh, and impatient to have more of her, he reached to lightly cup one breast in his strong hand, sighing with pleasure at the feel of the warmth and curve of her pearly skin in his palm. She closed her eyes at his touch and sighed fetchingly, clearly wishing him to continue.

Impatient still after yearning for her so intensely, he leaned forward, desiring, like any pirate worth his salt, a ruby over pearls, and gently captured the crowning gem of the breast he lifted gently in his mouth. The breathy moan of pleasure she uttered sent a thrill through his blood, and as he suckled her petal-soft flesh, he was rewarded with the sensation of her nipple drawing tight and stiff against his tongue.

A knock on the door roused Barbossa from his erotic daydream, and he became painfully aware that not only was his lovely fantasy being rudely interrupted, but that a fine feminine nipple was not the only thing that had gone hard during his lustful musings again.

Bloody hell.

Once more, he bade the fearsome serpent south of the equator to bide its time, and it reluctantly withdrew to its lair as he called for the knocker to enter.

Bellamy entered and quickly reported that all was well on deck and that the watch had changed, trying to efficiently perform his duty and get out from under the daunting gaze of his intimidating captain.

Barbossa merely nodded, indicating acknowledgement and dismissal in one gesture, but then a thought came to him before the younger pirate could escape the cabin.

Madeline had desperately wanted to go ashore, and while he had refused to let her accompany any other of his crew, not trusting them to put enough effort into guarding her, and likewise, with some of them, not convinced that they wouldn't be the thing that she needed protection from, he discovered that the answer to his problem, and hers, was just about to scurry out the door.

"Master Bellamy," Barbossa called, allowing himself a tiny self-satisfied smile at the subtle but noticeable way Bellamy cringed at being called back by the Pirate Lord. "I have a favor to ask of ye…"

--

And so he gambled, risking that letting her go ashore with Bellamy would increase his own standing with the lady doctor more than it would that of the young handsome pirate he had assigned to be her bodyguard. He knew Bellamy fancied Madeline enough that he'd take protecting her seriously, that much was obvious, yet he worried that if she spent more time with him she might find that she fancied him as well. But Barbossa had a sneaking suspicion that the woman who had enough gumption to enter the medical college as the sole member of her sex, and was managing to make the best of being a prisoner aboard a pirate ship, would probably find herself attracted to a man with more substance than Bellamy, and Barbossa was nothing, if not a man of substance.

--

The gamble had paid off, Barbossa thought, as he paced in his cabin the next evening. Not only had he ending up spending most of the afternoon in the company of his reluctant ship's surgeon, but he'd managed to discover that the educated young woman had a decent working knowledge of Latin. He'd gained more knowledge of Morgan's map with her help in an afternoon than he had by himself in two years, and he now had an excuse to have time with her alone again tomorrow.

And of course, there had been the unexpected bonus of the scorpion she'd carried back from her sojourn to the beach with Bellamy. Not only was he sure his standing with Madeline had inched up a few notches since he had rescued her from the foul little monster, but the tiny beast had given him the perfect excuse to get closer to her physically.

He stopped his pacing at the windows and smiled wickedly to himself. He highly doubted that there would have been a chance of her picking up a second scorpion on the beach, but he hadn't needed to share that tidbit of information with her as he shook out her skirts and ran his hands along her dress and her curves to 'search' for another one. No, then it would have precluded him from being able to run his fingers through her hair, and unbeknownst to her, make use of the height advantage he had to gaze over her shoulder and down the front of her dress as he did so.

Of course, it had been a struggle to let go and step away, and not grab her and tip her head back by the handful of hair he held and seize her mouth in his, stealing the passionate kiss he so desired. If she ever knew how far more dangerous he could be than the scorpion…

He resumed his pacing, thoughts of how she had picked up the little vermin on the beach creeping back into his mind. She'd told him of how she'd refrained from joining Bellamy and Waters as they ditched their cares and their clothes to go swimming that morning.

Thank the Powers that the woman couldn't swim. He didn't care to let his mind wander along the lines of her splashing playfully in the surf, naked with Michael Bellamy, and he found he needed to unclench his fists after thinking about the possibility of Bellamy laying a hand on his captive surgeon. He knew only too well where Bellamy's thoughts about the fetching lass were running; that much was obvious to another man and pirate such as himself. But Bellamy was too preoccupied with his infatuation with the lady doctor to pay much attention to the fact that he was not the only one who had developed a fascination with the reserved but kind young doctor.

Barbossa picked up an apple on his next circuit past the bowl they resided in, taking a bite and savoring the treat as he mulled over the situation. Bellamy, although younger than himself by a decade and irritatingly handsome, lacked the subtlety and finesse necessary to perpetrate an effective seduction, especially of a woman such as Madeline Gray. That much was obvious even in the way the eager younger man had been fairly blatantly proposing a tryst on the beach to her.

True, she may have been amused by his clumsy flirtations, but a wiser man would know better than to be so obvious, and a more experienced one would know that while rutting with passionate abandon, dripping wet in the shallow surf seemed quite appealing on the surface, the painful reality was far from as pleasant as first supposed. Sand got absolutely _everywhere_, and usually put an awkward and rapid end to any sort of amorous activity.

Barbossa smirked to himself as he took another bite of apple. He was certain that fornicating on the beaches of Tortuga was not Madeline's style, whatever Bellamy's little fantasy might be. He was determined that if anyone aboard his ship would be doing any fornicating with her, it was going to be himself, and he would certainly see to it that the reason that sweet young thing ended up dripping wet had _nothing_ to do with the surf.

--

"Well," Turk said, grinning as he sat across the table from Barbossa, "tonight should be right interestin' if nothin' else." The two of them were giving the lady doctor a few more minutes before collecting her to accompany them on their evening visit to Tortuga. "Can't wait to see the look on ol' Tortuga Lily's face when she sees the company yeh've been keepin' lately."

Barbossa groaned and buried his face in one hand. "Merda! I'd not even given' any thought to Lilith. This'll not sit well with her, I'll wager."

"That's what I'm countin' on," Turk said, still grinning. Anything further he might have said about Lilith's reaction to Madeline was cut short by the urgent knock at the door.

"Enter!" Barbossa called, watching as a very reluctant Hoskins came to stand just inside the doorway to the cabin. "What is it yeh want, Master Hoskins?"

Hoskins looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but standing in Barbossa's presence at that moment, but he knew well enough that it never did well to delay answering the older pirate sharply, and he swallowed hard and spoke.

"There's been fight between the crew and the French pirates," he croaked, reflexively cringing once he'd delivered the news, anticipating the inevitable outburst from his temperamental captain.

Barbossa's eyes went cold as his expression darkened dramatically, and his voice dropped to a blatantly dangerous whisper.

"_What?"_

Turk sprang nimbly to his feet despite his great size after seeing the look that crossed Barbossa's face. "Well, I'll just be off to fetch our doctor," he said, hurrying past a panicked-looking Hoskins and shooting him a sympathetic look as he escaped through the cabin door.

He didn't know what other question Hoskins might have been forced to answer, but he was just as happy to be out of the cabin when he heard what sounded like a chair ricocheting off the wall, and Hoskins came flying through the door behind him.

--

He stood there impatiently, waiting for May to open the door once he'd knocked, "Well, hurry up," he'd called back to her saying she'd be another minute. "Barbossa's in a right state, and keepin' him waitin' won't improve his mood none."

Fortunately, it really was only a minute before she opened the door, and when he took in the way she had elegantly pinned up her hair and changed into a blue dress that hugged every curve and left very little to the imagination, especially with all that bare skin in back, he knew that he'd better up the amount he'd wagered with Starkey about whether it would be Barbossa's or Bellamy's bed she ended up in.

He'd already bet heavily in his captain's favor, and since there could be no logical reason for why she'd dolled herself up for a trip into Tortuga, of all places, it must mean her reason was a more illogical one.

Like the fact that she was falling for Barbossa, whether she knew it yet or not.

--

Barbossa paced agitatedly in his cabin, furious at the fact that Stoker had gotten drunk and started the row between the two pirate crews. Now he'd have to kiss that arrogant popinjay, Chevalle's arse to ensure the penniless yet ruthless pirate and he remained on good terms. True, he and Andre had always gotten on well enough for Pirate Lords, but the fact that he'd have to find a way to apologize infuriated him to no end.

Still steaming, he snarled wordlessly and grabbed up a half empty bottle of rum, heaving it against the wall where the chair had hit a few moments before. Glass shattered and rum ran down the dark wood, even as the door to the cabin opened and Turk brought in the doctor.

Barbossa completely missed the knowing smirk that crossed Turk's face, as preoccupied as he became with just what it was Madeline was wearing, and he made a very conscious effort not to let his jaw drop open.

If he'd been tempted before to part her from the green dress that she'd made due with for a while now, it was all he could keep from not shoving Turk back out the door and parting her from the one she now wore.

Blue silk clung to her curves in all the right places and all the right ways to set his pulse racing, and he could tell by the way the fabric smoothed over the contours of her breasts and hips that there was only one layer of delicate fabric between him and her silken flesh.

He took one step closer, oblivious to Turk and contemplating how simple it would be to overpower her here and now. She stood a good deal slighter in stature than himself, and it would be nothing to tear the flimsy silk from around her legs and trap her against the wall. A vision of him sweeping her up and pinning her against the dark wood while he took her roughly flashed through his mind, and he could almost hear her imagined cries of simultaneous protest and pleasure as he drove into her moist heat, again and again.

Imagining her wrapping her arms longingly around his neck and her thighs around his hips as he savaged her against the wall, he startled a bit when Turk's voice snapped him out of his brief but lustful musings.

"If yer done with yer tantrum, Hector, there's some serious drinkin' to be done," he said quietly.

"Aye, yer right," Barbossa replied, turning away to fetch his frockcoat and hiding the wry smile that spread across his lips. '_Serious drinkin_' was a term the two of them shared to indicate if one had found a cooperative wench to bed during an evening in the past. Apparently Turk knew him well enough to know what was likely going though his mind, and communicating with him that he thought Barbossa was on the right track, judging, most likely, by the way the young doctor had taken so much care with her appearance for the evening.

He perched his hat upon his head, and indicated Turk and May should head for the door. "Shall we?" he said, remaining cool and casual until she turned around and he saw the back of her dress.

It was completely absent, and revealed smooth, bare skin, all the way from her shoulders to the top of her hips. He followed along behind her, contemplating how it would feel to drag his long nails down her delicate spine, and too preoccupied with whether or not she might enjoy such a thing to pay attention to where he was going.

"Damn!" he swore, a second after his nose had collided with the doorframe.

Recomposing himself and adjusting his skewed hat, he gathered every ounce of self-control he possessed, and headed off to see where wining and dining his lovely captive surgeon in Tortuga might get him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you to FreedomOftheSeas for beta-ing and some great suggestions! This chapter is mostly playful and a bit naughty, but the next one gets dark, intense and steamy. ;)

--

**~ Chapter Three ~**

--

Hector Barbossa had just had a door slammed in his face, and he frowned heavily and glared at it. While he hadn't the slightest desire to see what was about to take place in the room on the other side, he was irritated that he now stood by himself in the hallway, after the woman he had come a hairsbreadth from coaxing into his bed had dashed inside to deliver a troublesome baby.

While he knew absolutely nothing about such decidedly _female_ matters, he had enough sense to realize that arriving arse first into the world was not typically the way one made one's debut, and it bode ill for the lady doctor being finished with her duties any time soon. Or, more importantly, soon enough so that he might be able to salvage some shadow of a remnant of a hint of the seduction he'd orchestrated _all bloody night_.

Fuck.

Deciding that he now had nothing better to do than drown his sorrows, he went in search of rum, and returned to his room and flopped on the bed where he'd nearly charmed her into joining him. Propping himself up against the headboard, he yanked the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spat it across the bed, and then downed a fair measure of the bottle and bemoaned his undeserved fate.

Chances were, that not only was he not, at the moment, anywhere closer to seeing more of Doctor Gray's anatomy, but he was likely the only pirate on shore leave in Tortuga that night that wouldn't be lustily burying his treasure. Even Turk, barely recovered from his devastating injuries, was likely tangled in the sheets with that curvy green-eyed vixen Lilith had assigned to him, enthusiastically demonstrating that the reason Barbossa and the crew said he was built like an ox was not due only to his great height.

Fuck_._

Another large swig of rum left him contemplating the fact that even Bellamy had gotten himself laid, being able to put aside his infatuation with May for an evening to partake of the fine feminine offerings of Tortuga. Of course, Barbossa had used that to his own advantage, making sure to point out in front of Madeline just what Bellamy had been doing on shore leave the evening before. He had hoped that the idea would repulse her enough to counter any possible attraction she might be feeling toward the gallingly pleasant and annoyingly handsome young pirate.

But of course that left Barbossa without the option to find himself another wench for the evening, especially if he wanted to maintain any standing he'd gained in the young physician's eyes. He wondered briefly if he could get away with it and not have her know, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn't just intense, lustful, animalistic sex he wanted, no, it was intense, lustful, animalistic sex with _her_. Just her.

Which meant only one thing, besides the fact that he was as horny as a two-headed goat at the moment – he was falling in love with her.

_Fuck_.

More rum found its way down his throat as he abandoned any thoughts of a whore for the evening, and he sulked and thought back over the events of earlier that night. It seemed at first that things were not going to get off on the right foot when he'd been forced to deal with the drunkard who was stupid enough to pull a gun on a Pirate Lord, and he regretted the way the man had been dragged away, screaming and bleeding profusely from the stump that used to hold his hand.

Not that he gave a bilgerat's arse about that inebriated asshole – had he been alone he would have instantly removed the other hand and then run the bastard through. No, it was the look of horror and awe that Madeline had met him with when he'd made short work of that cretin, and he worried for a moment that he'd scared her too much.

Barbossa took another swallow of rum. But if he hadn't been mistaken, and he was nearly certain he hadn't, there had been just a measure of enthrallment in the young woman's eyes, and gambling that she might be finding herself unwittingly drawn to a dangerous man like himself, Barbossa had offered her his arm. Which she had_ actually_ taken.

One thing was certain about Madeline Gray - the fact that compared to the whores of Tortuga she stuck out like a rose among thorns, and it pleased him to no end to be seen with the lass by his side. And Turk was right, of course - a fine little show pony she made indeed, he'd thought, as he led her along, but with this one it was much more her twat than her trot that he was interested in, and giving her a ride she'd not forget soon was featuring prominently in his thoughts.

Turk had also been right about Lilith not being pleased with the company he'd arrived at the _Mermaid_ with, and the icy gaze she'd swept over Madeline's dress had spoken volumes. Olive skinned, dark-eyed and ebony-haired, with legs that went on forever (and which she'd enthusiastically wrapped around him many a time while tangled in the sheets with him) Lilith presented quite a contrast to the fair-haired woman walking in on his arm. Barbossa was sure that she was going to be jealous of May, and primarily because she knew him well enough to see, even before the young surgeon did, that he was becoming smitten with her. Lilith and he got on famously, but she'd never completely forgiven him for ending what they'd had together years before.

And not that Lilith had any trouble holding her own against another attractive woman, but an attractive _doctor_, who she suspected he fancied? Now that was sure to ruffle her feathers, and it amused him to no end.

As did the fact that it took only three seconds for Chevalle's eyes to wander over the woman whose hand he was kissing as the two were introduced, and then for a questioning smirk to meet Barbossa's own gaze. He'd merely smiled and shrugged nonchalantly, gloating at the amused but envious look that Andre had shot him.

Teague had been a different matter altogether, after he'd seated himself next to May. Once she'd had enough wine, she'd relaxed enough to converse pleasantly with the intimidating Keeper of the Code, but there was no question that all through dinner, Teague had been looking at her as if he were considering her part of the dessert course.

True, Barbossa himself had thought the same thing, but wanting to ensure that the rough looking but charismatic and smoothly charming Keeper knew she was off-limits, he'd made it a point to not-so-subtly drape his arm across the back of her chair.

Teague, savvy old seadog that he was, got the message loud and clear, and merely quirked an amused eyebrow up at Barbossa, without any other sign that anything was amiss. By the time he'd worked up to gently wrapping his arm around her shoulders and she was as much on the edge of his chair as her own, Edward had smirked and raised a glass at him behind May's back, toasting Barbossa's finesse.

Of course, the combination of large amounts of alcohol, fine food, and interesting company made for a pleasant enough evening for her, despite the fact that she was sitting amongst pirates of notoriety, and Barbossa wondered if the inhibitions of the woman sitting very close to him were diminished to the extent that he hoped. Not that he wanted to get her drunk and take advantage of her, (alright, so part of him did, but that wasn't really conducive to building any significant level of trust with her) but he was hoping she'd let her guard down just enough so that he could get close without her bolting.

Fate seemed content to let things go in his favor for the evening at that point, and he'd jumped at the chance to have her to himself for a few minutes, alone in the romantic setting of Lilith's garden. He was pleased with himself for having the audacity to put the flower in her hair, and delighted that she hadn't moved away when he did. He'd stood close behind her, securing the rose he'd picked, admiring her elegant neck and letting his eyes wander down over the absent back of her dress.

The perfect bloom he'd plucked caused him to contemplate whether or not the young woman whose hair his fingers were toying with might possibly still be a virgin, and although he had a sneaking suspicion that the man she'd been with in medical school had left no part of her unstudied, he found the thought of possibly deflowering her surprisingly appealing. He smirked behind her back. Ravishing virgins was the prerogative of any pirate worth his salt, was it not?

No matter –either way he'd have her before the evening was through, and even if that worthless rotter Nigel had been her first, Barbossa knew well that a second year medical student wouldn't have had a fraction of the experience he'd gained in nearly two decades more of sleeping with women. He looked forward eagerly to putting every ounce of the considerable skill he possessed into worshipping her in his bed.

Thoughts of exactly how he'd have her the first time sent a rush of heat to his groin, and he quickly stepped away from her and asked her the reason for wanting to speak to him in private in the first place, trying to change lines of thinking before his control slipped any further. Not that he'd be opposed to spending additional time seeing more of the garden with her, but the bougainvillea and hibiscus were clearly not the only bushes he was interested in exploring.

Fate once again seemed content to let things go his way, and after discussing Morgan's map with Madeline, he had the perfect (and nearly innocent) excuse to get her completely alone.

Perhaps as part of their ruse for Lilith's benefit, so the old flax wench wouldn't be too curious about what they were up to, or perhaps due to the fact that she'd had just a little too much wine and needed a bit of steadying, or perhaps, just perhaps because she wanted to be that close to him, Madeline had taken the arm he'd offered her and let him escort her all the way to the infamous north garden room. It had been sweet torture, feeling the warmth of her arm woven through his, and the softness of her breast that periodically brushed his arm when her balance proved to be ever so slightly compromised, and he had all he could do to keep his pace casual in an effort not to appear overly eager to get her beyond the door at the end of the hall.

Although it was central to his plan to get her into the large four-poster bed in the room that was obvious the minute the door opened, he knew that she was likely to prove less than cooperative if the first thing he did when the door closed was drag her toward the bed.

So, in order to take her focus off what sleeping arrangements would have to be made eventually, he did exactly that.

He admitted to feeling just a little bad about the terrified look she'd had when he'd grabbed her, but the way his faux assault had broken the ice and lightened the tension between them (several minutes after she had finally calmed down and forgiven him for his joke) had paid off handsomely. Not to mention that he'd managed to press the entirety of her body against his delectably for a moment –it had taken a great force of will to release her and not make short work of her dress then and there.

Once again, as she worked on the clues from the map, he'd had the opportunity to be in close proximity to her at the little table they were sharing, and he noted with great satisfaction that she didn't bother to move her arm away when he'd leaned closer and let his press against hers. Wanting to give her enough time to feel more comfortable with him, but not for the effects of all the wine she'd had to completely wear off, he'd decided to forge ahead by the time they had only one clue remaining. True, they could have taken a few minutes to puzzle it out, but he'd have it as an excuse to get her alone again if tonight didn't work out the way he'd hoped.

Keeping things as causal as possible, but taking once more to flirting, he'd flopped on the bed, tucked his hands behind his head, and waited for the game to begin in earnest.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked him, clearly irritated as she realized her dilemma.

'Waitin' fer you to realize that in about a half hour's time that dress will be a long-forgotten pile of blue silk on the floor,' he'd thought.

"_Gettin' some shut-eye_," he'd answered innocently enough, praying she'd ask the question that he knew she'd have to ask next.

"And just where am I supposed to sleep?" she asked, right on cue.

'_Oh, ye'll not have to concern yerself with sleep this night, lass_,' he'd thought, but instead he opted to flirt and propped himself up on his elbow and patted the bed, indicating he wanted her to join him.

"You must be joking," she said, clearly getting flustered. Which was good. He wanted her off balance and confused about how she felt.

Continuing his flirtations, he teased her a bit. "Where be that sense of adventure, lass?" And she'd better have one if she was going to venture anywhere within his reach from that point on. The thought of grabbing her again and pulling her onto the bed and up against him stirred his blood, and it took an iron will to keep himself under control as they continued their conversation. They bantered about her dress and trust, and bloody hell, if she hadn't seemed to give in a little and approach the bed as they spoke.

When she'd gotten close enough that if she took another step or two she'd have to sit on the edge of the bed, he'd felt another rush of adrenaline at the prospect of succeeding in getting her to join him, and although not yet summoned, the too-long suppressed creature south of the border stirred, sensing a damsel about to be in delicious distress at hand.

Merda! He couldn't have that now! He'd almost gotten her where he wanted her. Typically a master of the hunt, he always waited until a sweet vixen was well within his grasp before unleashing the hound, but overeager to capture a well-deserved prize, apparently it was not heeding the bidding of its master tonight.

Madeline took another step closer to the bed as she spoke, and he nearly panicked, trying to turn his thoughts to mundane tasks, unpleasant memories...anything to help contain the unruly beast below decks.

Trust...she'd said something else about _trust_, but he wasn't completely paying attention to her, as despite the fact that he'd quickly slammed closed the metaphorical gate to re-capture the randy cur, it seemed it was now finding a way to dig under the bars.

_The Blazes_ if his own sex-starved member wasn't going to be his downfall. Here he was, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible as she was talking about doing her best to trust him, and nothing was going to _bloody well bung-up_ non-threatening faster than suddenly developing an obvious boner.

Fuck!

Realizing that she was expecting some sort of answer from him he replied to her comment. "Apologies," he said, smirking slightly, "but it's a dress like the one ye be wearin' as makes it more difficult for you to trust me."

Shit! Merda! That was the wrong thing to say! Sure, Madeline obviously found his flirtation amusing and was smiling despite herself, but the thought of her form-hugging attire only served to throw more fuel on the fire in his groin, and he knew he need to revert to desperate measures.

Going where he never, ever cared to go, in a last ditch effort to quash the insurgent uprising in his breeches before she noticed, he invoked the hated name of _Jack Sparrow_, sighing with relief as all of his being cringed reflexively, including man's best friend, which he was subsequently able to shove back behind bars with the promise it would only be for another half hour.

But oh, how wrong he'd been! Just as Madeline had taken a step closer to the bed, resolved to say something else about trust, apparently, Lilith had knocked on the door and swept her away to sort out the difficult delivery.

Which brought him back to the fact that he was now alone, well on his way to being drunk, and no closer to hoisting sail and dropping anchor than he had been at the beginning of the evening. At this point, any chance of carnal pleasure during the rest of the evening would likely only result from him coming to grips with the situation and himself.

Fuck.

--

**A/N: **Two recommendations for well-written M fictions:

First -_Conquests of a Well-Bred Prostitute_ by FreedomOftheSeas. If you've seen Johnny Depp in The Libertine, then you'll know that her charming, eloquent, egotistical and occasionally shocking style in this story is completely accurate to John Wilmot's character and very amusing!

Two -_The Heart of the Leviathan_ by Intrepid Bandicoot. From the movie Elizabeth. For any of you Rushies out there, this is a beatifully written WIP that is setting up a great story line about Sir Francis Walsingham and also has some lovely steamy scenes!

Check them out and don't forget to let the authors know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **This chapter doesn't have the same lighthearted tone as the first three. It's much darker and more unsettled, with a fairly _vivid _dream of Barbossa's. Considering the part of MoM this corresponds to, the serious tone seemed better suited to that part of the story to me. Once again, mind the rating.

--

**Chapter Four ~*~**

**--**

If there was one thing Barbossa hated, it was having to admit he was wrong, but after the very long day of miserable tension between himself and Madeline, he was nearly ready to apologize.

Which was a testament to how much he had come to care for her, and also to how much he wanted her, because he rarely apologized to anyone. But if the intense dreams he was having, now that he knew she wanted him too, were any indication of how things were going to be for the duration of her voyage, he was going to go mad if he didn't soon make amends and get her into his bed.

He stole glances at where she was currently sitting across the bonfire from him, looking miserable but trying to do her best to converse with Chevalle. No doubt her subdued demeanor was his doing, and he regretted the fact that he'd stuck her. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but when he'd thought he was losing her to that fucking Bellamy, he'd seen red, and all coherent thought had ceased for a moment.

A nudge to his ribs caught his attention, and he turned to find Turk watching him carefully.

"Yeh should talk to 'er, mate," Turk said quietly, jerking his head ever so slightly in May's direction. "Apologize, Barbossa. She's a smart lady. She'll understand."

Barbossa had another sip from the bottle of wine he held as he tried to ignore him.

"She wants yeh, yeh know," Turk said, trying a different tack. "Why do yeh think she's so miserable?"

"The lass has plenty of reasons to be miserable, Turk," Barbossa spat back under his breath, "includin' the fact that she'd be stuck among pirates against her will, and that once the captain was fortunate enough to earn her trust, he betrayed that trust sharply and painfully."

"Yeh made a mistake," Turk said quietly with a shrug. "Don't make another by lettin' her go. Yeh'll both regret it."

"Pfhhh!" Barbossa huffed and turned away again, trying to ignore Turk's advice.

Turk scowled. "Fine then, be like that, but don't yeh complain to me about not gettin' any sleep!"

Barbossa had to admit that Turk had a point. Significant sleep was nonexistent right now with the way he kept being woken by the vivid and realistic nature of his dreams. Last night's, in fact, had caused him to awake before dawn and to end up pacing his cabin in agitation...

--

The night before he'd been contemplating how to go about managing reconciliation with his surgeon, after he'd berated her for not following orders, and to find a way to explain to her that the reason he'd chosen not to let her go ashore was because of his very real concern for her safety. The fact of the matter was also that some selfish part of him hoped to keep her on board long enough that she might come to desire not to leave him at all.

Of course, that was folly, for he knew she didn't belong in his world, and the way things stood at that moment, it seemed likely that it wasn't him she wanted after all –rumor on the ship was that despite the late hour, no one had yet seen Bellamy emerge from her cabin.

Barbossa sank defeatedly into his chair, furious, frustrated, and experiencing a host of other emotions that he was unfamiliar with; most of which he couldn't put his finger on, but definitely didn't like. He was certain that jealousy numbered among them, and he gave a short, bitter laugh at the thought that he, Hector Barbossa, scourge of the Spanish Main, one of the most cunning rogues and fearsome swordsmen in the Caribbean, and Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, was envious of a simple deckhand of moderate skill and no reputation.

"_Huh_!" he snorted indignantly.

But the fact remained that jealous he was, and not just a little resentful of Bellamy, but_ flog him again until he dropped_ _dead _envious. Barbossa sneered, knowing that no matter how much he hated Bellamy at that moment, he'd never be able to follow through with such thoughts, as it would horrify and completely alienate _her_.

Another wave of unfamiliar and wracking pain washed through him, and he pressed his fingers to his temples, agonized. Was she with him right now, as the crew had speculated? Was she kissing him, letting him touch her? Was he sharing her bed, watching her as she moaned and tossed her golden head back, reaching over her head to grasp the edge of her bed in ecstasy and with passionate abandon? Was she clinging to him, wrapping herself around him and gasping every time he drove into her again?

Had she cried out Bellamy's name?

Abruptly, Barbossa slammed a fist into the table before him and jerked himself out of his chair; his hands trembling with rage at the thought of Bellamy having her that way, and he tried to bring himself under control. So he'd fucked her. So what? What did it matter?

Why did it matter? It shouldn't really...

Bloody fuckin' hell! Barbossa pounded his fist against the nearest wall. He'd kill the bastard with his own hands if he'd touched that woman!

Barbossa's own passionate rage eventually burned itself out, leaving him exhausted and staring at his bed. He needed sleep desperately, but he knew what awaited him if he closed his eyes. He'd dreamt of nothing but her since she'd set foot on the _Rogue_, and he knew tonight would be no different.

_So be it_, he thought with an agonized sigh. If that were the only way she could be his now, he'd take the sweet torment of his dreams and perhaps hope that he never awoke...

--

Despite the fact that it looked like a storm might be gathering, with the way the sky had curdled and darkened, and the way the swells had gathered in strength, Barbossa found himself the only person on deck and standing at the helm of his magnificent _Rogue Wave_.

True, he'd never actually be alone on deck in a storm, but it was his dream, and he rather liked the idea.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and there she was, slowly climbing the stairs toward him.

He was vaguely aware of a distant rumble of thunder as May came near, wearing a loose, flowing shift of cerulean-gray the same color as the churning sea below them; the golden tresses that fell down her back tossed gently in the wind.

"You should get below," he said to her with a meaningful glance at the storm clouds overheard. "Tis not safer fer you here."

"Why must you always order me away?" she asked softly, slowly advancing until she stood very close.

"I want you be safe, lass. This is no place fer a lady to be," he said, trying to ignore how close she was.

"Safe?" she asked, reaching to lightly touch his face. "And is it the storm I should fear?"

"The storm poses less threat," he said meaningfully but softly, reaching to gently pull her hand away from his scarred cheek, but finding himself unable to completely relinquish all physical contact with her.

She tightened her grip on his hand. "I do not fear the storm," she replied, "not with you here." She smiled in a fetchingly shy way and glanced at where his other hand still held the wheel.

He couldn't help but smile a little at her. "This storm is naught compared to many I've sailed, lass. I'll have us through this squall soon enough."

"I see," she whispered, still holding his hand and slipping into the narrow space between him and the wheel. She gazed up at him, meeting his eyes as best she could. "I wonder, Captain, if an experienced helmsman such as yourself might steer me through my own tempest?"

Something in the way she had spoken the word 'tempest' captured his attention, and he quirked an eyebrow at her question. "Yer own _tempest_, Doctor?"

"Aye," she'd answered breathily, "a raging storm that _desperately_ needs to be tamed." A less distant rumble of thunder threatened overhead.

Ah, so it was to be one of _those _dreams. So be it, if he was to be tortured thusly.

He met her gaze steadily for a moment, making sure he hadn't misinterpreted her request, but by the look of longing he found there, he knew for a fact that he hadn't. "Tis but a simple matter," he replied, letting a trace of arrogance into his tone.

He could tell that her breathing had quickened with as close as she stood to him. "Ah, so ye mean _now_?" he asked, a roguish smile tugging at his mouth as she nodded. "Well, in that case, m'lady, ye'll have to relinquish all control to me, if I am to navigate this particular storm. Can ye do that?"

Another silent but meaningful nod set his heart racing, and he untwined his fingers from her own and reached to tip her chin up. "Can ye?" he asked softly, leaning close. "Can ye give in completely...surrender yerself entirely to me?"

She nodded again, and he firmed his grip on her chin, claiming her mouth roughly with his own, but meeting no resistance. In fact, she kissed him back hungrily, too absorbed in their passionate embrace to notice that he'd let go of the wheel with his other hand and then placed them both on the neckline of her shift.

He broke off the kiss and stared down into her eyes intently. "Do ye surrender completely?" he asked once more. She nodded again, and he yanked violently, tearing her dress open to the deck, causing her to gasp in surprise and take a step back. Of course her back encountered the ship's wheel, and she was trapped between it and him.

"Did I not say the storm poses less threat, me beauty?" he asked, sliding the ravaged shift back off her shoulders a little, exposing her bare breasts more fully and letting his eyes wander down over her nearly naked body as another rumble of thunder rolled overhead.

"You did," she whispered as he placed his left hand back on the wheel next to her, and let his right gently caress a full breast. He was content for a long moment to enjoy her softness and warmth, and then the beating of her heart beneath his fingers as he slid his hand across her chest to fondle the other one.

She gasped, letting her eyes close and her head fall back when he ever so lightly dragged a long nail across her already erect nipple, and pleased with the response he had gotten from her, he continued doing so. Eventually, he captured the sensitive tip between his thumb and forefinger and began massaging her delicately as he leaned down to breath in her ear.

"Are the storm clouds gatherin' m'lady?" he whispered, getting only a slight nod in return from her in her utter distraction. "Are the winds howlin'?" he asked, continuing his attentions.

"Yes," she sighed.

"And are the seas now great swells ye must cross?" he asked, then kissed her neck roughly.

"_Yes!_" she gasped again.

"Then allow me to take the helm," he murmured into her hair, and continuing to steer the ship with his left hand, he slid the other slowly down over her stomach and lower. He couldn't help but be pleased with himself so far, and a tiny self-satisfied smile passed over his lips when she inhaled sharply at him pressing two strong, elegant fingers between her thighs, and he discovered how much she'd already responded to him. Moist warmth met his fingertips as he expertly sought out the next center of pleasure for her.

He continued to whisper near her ear, as his fingers set up a gentle circular rhythm. "One steady hand then, fer each of me finest ladies, to guide them through their storms," he said, allowing another touch of charming arrogance into his words as she found herself clinging to him, the wind tossing her hair as it gathered strength around them.

He watched her carefully, judging when to notch up his tempo by the intensity of her soft moans; finding himself becoming aroused as she held onto him tightly, burying her face against his shoulder. The gale was increasing in force around them, streaming her hair along with it, and causing the sails to ripple and snap overhead.

The next clap of thunder was loud, but it still didn't drown out her soft cry at the increase in pressure from his fingers. He could tell by the way he had her digging her nails into his arm and whimpering in delirious ecstasy that he was in complete control, and he spoke softly to her again after first kissing her earlobe.

"Are ye mine, lass?" he asked, pressing harder into her warmth and causing her to gasp again as she nodded against his shoulder.

"Are ye?" he asked her again, his own breathing becoming a bit faster as hers became ragged. "Are ye mine to control...mine to possess?" he demanded from her in a whisper.

He took the slightly desperate cry she gave as a yes and redoubled his efforts, increasing his rhythm's tempo and intensity again, knowing she was about to lose control. Left hand upon his ship and right upon his woman, he masterfully guided them both through the storm surge and howling winds.

Her grip on his arm suddenly tightened, and she strained against his hand, evidently desperate to have her release. Feeling his own storm gathering as heat rushed to his groin, he spoke once more. "Are ye mine to command, m'lady?" he asked.

"_Yes!_" she gasped, her single word surprisingly feral.

"Then come for me," he ordered her in a softer whisper, bringing her to her climax but a moment later. His own heart was pounding fiercely in his chest as she cried out and collapsed against him, panting and letting a few settling whimpers escape her lips as he removed his hand from between her legs and wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her.

He let her linger in ecstasy against him for several long moments, content to hold her and navigate the remaining storm. Rain started to fall softly, causing her at last to raise her head from his shoulder and gaze up at him. A strong thunderclap split by lightning caused her to jump, and she smiled and spoke after being jarred from her euphoria.

"It appears that I may find more threat in this weather after all," she said, blinking back the rain as the next crash of thunder struck.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice darkly amused as he caressed her cheek and then reached to take her hand in his. He brought it to his lips fleetingly, and then gently brought her arm out to her side and placed the hand upon a spoke of the wheel.

It wasn't until he let go of the wheel with his other hand, and repeated the gesture on the other side, kissing her fingers and then reaching to wrap them around a peg, that she appeared to grow concerned.

He kissed her long and passionately, and when he broke away there was a wicked gleam in his eye. "Foolish girl," he said with a measure of amusement and yet also of affection, "did ye not realize that this was the calm at the eye of the storm?"

He closed his left hand over her right on the wheel, preventing her from moving it, and then his right over her left, now trapping her completely as he pressed up against her. His eyes never left her face even as she realized that he'd undone his breeches while kissing her so ravenously a moment before.

Her eyes were wide with concern and perhaps a measure of fear, and she looked away as he moved against her. "Look at me," he ordered softly, staring intently into her eyes when she glanced back up at him. She tensed and looked away again, but didn't resist as he nudged aside one thigh. "Look at me," he repeated, softly again but with greater insistence. "A long time I've waited, and I want to look into yer eyes when I have you."

Thunder rolled past the distant tops of the mast, loud enough to drown out the wind and the sea for a moment, but he was sure the way she trembled against him had nothing to do with the storm overhead. He could tell she steeled herself for what they both knew was coming, and when she met his eyes again, he took her forcefully, reveling in the feel of her moist warmth as he plunged deep, and the way she cried out and threw her head back.

Holding very still for a moment, he pinned her there, savoring the feel of her body and her surrender. Unable to resist the temptation of her exposed throat, he kissed the delicate skin there once, and then nipped her, eliciting a shocked gasp of pain and pleasure, and then a second as he thrust against her roughly. Yet again his teeth found the tender skin of her neck, and once more he drove inside her, gripping her hands and the wheel to gain more purchase.

The cry she let out made him fear he'd actually hurt her, and he paused to whisper near her ear. "Is all well, m'lady? I mean not to harm ye this night," he asked her, concern evident in his voice.

Her answer was music to his ears as her eyes met his with a look of intense desire, and in a husky whisper she said, "_Don't stop..._"

He obliged her once he knew she was willing to brave both the rainstorm and his lust, and for the next few moments, both raged fiercely; the wind-driven rain soaked her hair and streamed down her body, and he buried his face against her hair, thrusting into her with reckless abandon. Her fervent cries only served to feed his passion and urge him onward, and fully aware of the fact that this was not a moment when either tenderness or restraint was called for, he savagely pursued his need.

Lost in his single-minded erotic endeavor, he smiled briefly when her cries become more urgent again, and she suddenly shuddered, coming again quickly with the intensity of his passionate onslaught. Not far behind her, he panted from his efforts, gasping her name softly as his own climax became an inevitability.

"Madeline...I've wanted you," he breathed into her wet hair as the rain and thunder continued, "I've...needed...want ye...to be..._mine_..."

Twice more he drove himself deep, finally spilling within her and gasping her name again. "_Madeline!_"

Vaguely aware that she tried to free her hands from where he'd held them against the wheel, he released them, only to find that she quickly wrapped her arms around him and clung to him desperately. He left one hand on the wheel and reached with the other to cradle her head against his own; breathless and spent, he lost himself in the feel of her warm, soft body against him and the smell of the Caribbean rain in her hair...

--

The first thing that Barbossa became aware of as he woke from the dream was the fact that everything was quiet. No wind howled, no thunder roared, and no woman cried out with passionate abandon in his arms; only the slow, creaking groans of the _Rogue_ shifting with the tide filled the cabin. Judging by the faint light outside the cabin, it was shortly before dawn, and knowing that it was useless for him to try to go back to sleep, after so many nights of delicious but disruptive dreams, he rose and shrugged into clothes, soon finding himself pacing in agitation in his cabin.

A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of both Turk and Harlow, and Barbossa stopped his pacing and looked at them with silent expectation. It was Harlow that spoke, after he issued a frustrated sigh, and Turk made it a point to look anywhere but at Barbossa.

"Bellamy left her cabin about half an hour ago...snuck out quietly and then pulled his boots on once her door was shut," he said flatly.

Barbossa said nothing for several long minutes, but both of the other pirates knew him better than anyone, and saw by the look in his eyes and the way he set his jaw that a real storm was brewing.

"Where is he now?" Barbossa's voice was soft but clearly dangerous.

Turk and Harlow shared a look, and then Harlow spoke again. "Hector," he began, hoping to be able to reason with his captain.

"Where is he?" Barbossa snarled fiercely, already heading for the door.

"On deck," Turk said gravely, knowing better than to try to stop his old friend as he swept past and out of the cabin.

Had Bellamy been further aft, he might have noticed the door to the great cabin flying open, and had he been less absorbed in his work and in his recollections of the night before, he might have paid attention to the fact that his enraged captain bore down on him, the first mate and bo'sun hot on his heels. Barbossa was nearly upon him when he realized something was amiss in the sound of the rapid footsteps approaching, but by the time he looked up from the rope in his hands, Barbossa's own had roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

Straightening as he turned, Bellamy still didn't have the chance to gain his balance as Barbossa grabbed him by his shirtfront, propelling him back a few paces and slamming him up against the foremast. Instantly furious himself, Bellamy met Barbossa's fierce gaze and reached to tear the captain's hand from his shirt, but before he could move Barbossa's dagger was in his hand, and in the space of a blink it was at his throat.

Cold steel pressed unpleasantly against his skin, but Bellamy stared Barbossa down defiantly. Neither spoke a word for several long moments until Barbossa finally leaned closer, snarling with quiet menace.

"If ye so much as _breathe _too loud on this ship, Master Bellamy_..._" he growled, letting his unfinished statement convey all he didn't need to say. The two men glared at each other a moment longer, and then snarling again with wordless frustration and rage, Barbossa shoved Bellamy away and flung the dagger to the deck. Barbossa stormed away and disappeared back into the great cabin.

Bellamy straightened up and tried to compose himself as Harlow fetched the dagger where it had stuck firmly in the deck of the _Rogue_. He regarded the pearl-handled dagger thoughtfully for a long moment, and then looked at Bellamy.

"You're one lucky man, Bellamy. I've rarely seen him draw this," he said, holding up the dagger, "without using it."

Still looking quite unhappy, Bellamy nodded silently, knowing that Harlow was right.

Turk spoke quietly. "Don't do anythin' stupid that might make 'im draw it again, mate. Yeh won't walk away a second time from Barbossa." He left Bellamy to deal with the stares of the rest of the crew present on deck, and followed Harlow back to the cabin.

__

And so the day had started, and then gone downhill from there, Barbossa thought, where he was sitting across the fire from Chevalle and May. She'd just excused herself in French and headed off down the beach, and he had all he could do to pay attention to what Andre was now saying to him as he tried to keep track of where she was going.

Turk, sitting next to him and well on his way to being inebriated, nonetheless was still sober and savvy enough to engage the French pirate in conversation, and if Barbossa wasn't mistaken, he felt a surreptitious nudge in his ribs, indicating this was his chance as Turk created a diversion in the conversation.

Knowing he should swallow his pride and speak with the young surgeon while he had the opportunity, Barbossa rose and straightened his hat, and then headed off into the woods.


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter is a bit more lighthearted than the last one. It corresponds to the scenes where Barbossa rescues May from Stoker and the first half of the scene where he finally manages to get her in his bed. The second half shouldn't be far behind.

--

**Chapter Five ~*~**

--

_And so the day had started, and then gone downhill from there, Barbossa thought, where he was sitting across the fire from Chevalle and May. She'd just excused herself in French and headed off down the beach, and he had all he could do to pay attention to what Andre was now saying to him as he tried to keep track of where she was going._

_Turk, sitting next to him and well on his way to being inebriated, nonetheless was still sober and savvy enough to engage the French pirate in conversation, and if Barbossa wasn't mistaken, he felt a surreptitious nudge in his ribs, indicating this was his chance as Turk created a diversion in the conversation._

_Knowing he should swallow his pride and speak with the young surgeon while he had the opportunity, Barbossa rose and straightened his hat, and then headed off into the woods._

_--_

Barbossa leaned against a tree with his arms folded across his chest, biding his time for a few moments before he headed deeper into the woods after Madeline. It hadn't taken much effort to figure out why she'd gone off on her own, deep into the bushes, and he wanted to be sure to give her ample time to deal with nature's call without interruption. The Powers knew that invading the tiny amount of privacy she was managing for herself would not be counted in his favor.

Deciding to give her one more minute (Heaven only knew how women managed such a thing in a long dress!) Barbossa quickly and efficiently addressed his own pressing call, subconsciously giving thanks for another reason to be grateful for having been born male. Finally estimating that she'd had enough time to complete her task, he made his way along the route she'd taken, tracking her by the faint trail of trampled brush.

As he walked, he considered what he might possibly say once he managed to confront her, and he admitted that he didn't have the faintest idea. He wasn't used to apologizing to anyone, and he wasn't used to dealing with women in this manner. But he knew he had to do both, and he decided that he would first see if she would even deign to listen to him; it was possible that she hated him now and wouldn't let him near her.

Not that he'd blame her. After all, he had raided her ship, taken her hostage, thrown her in the brig, tossed her companion into the ocean, tried to seduce her in Tortuga, had Bellamy flogged, and then slapped her senseless when she'd foolishly hoisted his colors. Not the most conventional route to a woman's heart, he mused darkly, and she had every reason in the world to loathe him now.

But one thing told him she didn't, and he clung to that thought tenaciously: the memory of the night the blasted HMS _Valiant_ had blown a hole through his stern. Only moments before the ill-timed attack, she'd come to his side and touched him _voluntarily_, tenderly placing her hand on his with affection that he'd so rarely experienced. And then she'd given him her hard-won trust, something that he coveted perhaps as much as her body.

She hadn't backed away in that moment; she'd stood her ground and allowed him to embrace her, despite the fact that she'd trembled with fear in his arms. Something within him had solidified that moment, when she'd made such an effort to conquer her anxiety and put her faith in him, and the unfamiliar feelings he'd been experiencing toward her since the day she'd braved bloodthirsty pirates and the storm to save Turk, slid sharply into focus.

He was in love with her, and he'd known at that moment that he would do anything to _have_ –anything to _protect_ the fragile-seeming, soft, warm creature in his arms. She'd seen him nearly at his worst, and despite the fact that she clearly knew who he was –_what_ he was, she had looked past all the scars and the swaggering and the ruthlessness and chosen to give him the gift of her friendship.

And when he'd let her know, as gently as he could, that what he wanted was not simply the kiss that they both knew they were about to share, she'd held her course stoically, smiling a bit and teasing him about it being an adventure.

He thought back on that very moment as he picked his way through the brush. Despite the fact her fingers had been trembling against his arm, she'd met his gaze with a look that mirrored his own longing in those deep blue eyes, and then she'd closed them, tipping her head back in surrender and parting her full lips to meet his as he'd leaned to press his mouth against hers...

As the cannon fire had done at that moment, a sound from deeper in the brush took him away from the almost-kiss, and Barbossa frowned as he realized he heard a man's indistinct voice along with Madeline's.

She was out here with a man?

His first thoughts jumped to Bellamy, and scowling darkly, he stopped in his tracks to listen. She couldn't possibly be…

A soft whimper caught his attention, and his whole being cringed at what he thought he was overhearing. Was Bellamy that stupid? Had he really thought he could risk another tryst with her and live to tell the tale? Despite the fact that Michael Bellamy was near the top of his blacklist at the moment (number three, he estimated, right behind Charles Beckett and Jack Sparrow) he really thought the lad was smarter than that.

And more inclined to live a longer life.

Barbossa frowned, momentarily at a loss. While rutting in the bushes lustily with the female doctor like wild dogs certainly held a measure of appeal for him, he suspected that the proper young woman had not had nearly enough to drink to relinquish her well-ingrained inhibitions to that extent, and he realized that something didn't feel right about the situation.

Another soft cry, but this one clearly of anguish, brought him to his senses, and he knew she was in trouble. His hand went to his sword reflexively as he hurried quickly and quietly though the trees. There was only one pirate on his ship that might dare defy him and lay an unwanted hand on the woman, the same who was the only one who wouldn't hesitate to satisfy his sadistic need to torture by cutting and maiming her, long after he'd finished brutally demeaning her by beating and raping her.

_Stoker_.

Barbossa quickened his pace, knowing well what it was rumored the man was capable of. All the men on the _Rogue Wave_ were pirates for good reason, himself included, but there were still certain things he simply wouldn't tolerate.

Such as blatant disregard for his orders.

Oh, and killing women, of course.

He recognized Stoker's vile laugh, and his gut went ice cold as he realized his fears were confirmed. Well, the Powers-That-Be help that bastard if he'd so much as mussed her hair.

Peering out from the shadows of the trees he stood behind, he found the situation in the small clearing was worse than he had hoped. Stoker had Madeline pinned against a tree, and by the look on her face she was angry and terrified. A thin stream of blood ran down her lip and one down her throat, and he could see that her dress was in tatters.

He reached for his pistol, and then thought better of using it when Stoker leaned closer to her, as he feared he might hit her if Stoker moved again. He debated the best way to get to her without putting her in more danger when he realized that Stoker had a knife in his hand, but another cry of fear from her set his heart racing and his blood boiling, and he saw red when he realized she was in pain.

Furious that anyone would dare hurt her, and feeling overwhelmed with the need to protect her as Stoker sliced open the bodice of her dress, something very dark and primitive reared up within him, snarling '_woman mine_!' as his hand went instinctively to his dagger.

A cry of outrage from Stoker told him his blade had met his mark, and Barbossa said a little prayer of thanks to the previous owner of the dagger for diligently teaching him to throw so well, all those years ago.

--

From the time the dagger pierced Stoker's hand, to the time Barbossa was standing over his lifeless corpse, only a moment or two had passed, and as he debated what to possibly say to Madeline, he stalled for a minute, wiping the blood off his sword and gathering more courage than it took to face down the now dead pirate. What should he say? How did he go about apologizing?

Talking a deep breath, he turned to face her, but when he saw her crumpled on the ground, looking like she was going to fall apart, he found himself at her side, unconcerned about whatever had previously happened. The look of profound gratitude and admiration she met him with made him realize he'd been an idiot for doubting her feelings for him still existed, and with the way she was struggling not to cry, he suddenly felt guiltier than ever.

She looked so young, so frightened, and despite the bruises and the blood, so lovely in the moonlight, and he wondered how it was that he could have ever raised a hand against such a fragile creature.

He dropped to his knees and raised the same hand to her cheek again, this time with a tenderness he himself hadn't known he possessed. And fragile she was at that moment, for as soon as he had spoken to her she'd come undone, falling into his arms and sobbing hysterically.

Not knowing exactly what to do with the young woman crying against his chest, Barbossa held her and tried to think of something to say, anxious to make her stop. "Easy, lass," was the most brilliant thing he could come up with, and he rolled his eyes at his own inadequacy while she clung to him tighter and continued to cry.

Bloody hell! Why the fuck did they have to do this? If there was one thing that could undo a man faster than anything else, it was the sight of tears in a woman's eyes.

Madeline continued to sob irrationally, and he supposed that this was not the right time to pay more attention to the fact that the front of her dress was largely absent than the fact that she was falling apart.

He tightened his arms about her a little more and bit his tongue. This made no sense – here she was safe and sound, out of danger and no longer at the mercy of the savage pirate, and _now_ she was crying? He'd never bloody understand such a thing, even if he lived to be a hundred. He doubted there were many men who did.

Finally her tears stopped, and he drew her to her feet gently, steadying her as she rose. Realizing that he had blood on his fingers where he'd set them against her side, he tried to inspect the puncture wounds Stoker had inflicted upon her while she modestly tried to keep her dress closed with one hand and clutched at the back of her leg with the other.

Understanding that she'd been injured elsewhere, he gently turned her around and knelt behind her to lift her skirt and examine the small gash on her leg. The wound would need a few stitches, that was true, but Barbossa made a greater show of inspecting her injury than was really needed, thankful to have the excuse to inspect her legs as well. Her thigh was smooth and warm, and he had all he could do not to run his hands any higher than he already had.

He tore a strip of cloth to bind her wound for the moment, finding it satisfying to tear the fabric away from her hem. If it weren't for the fact that there was a dead pirate not ten feet from them, he would have been content to remove the rest of her shredded dress the same way, one tantalizing ribbon at a time…

--

And if it weren't for the fact that he had sailed for so many years with Starkey and Roberts, Barbossa would have shoved both of the drunken idiots out of the longboat and finished rowing back to the ship himself. Less inebriated than most of the pirates on the beach, but still heavily intoxicated, the two of them were all but rowing in circles as they sang drinking limericks inappropriate for mixed company and sniggered drunkenly when one or the other of them fouled up the words.

"Smarten up and row straight," he snarled at them, barely refraining from calling them whoreson maggots in front of his female passenger. "The lady is injured and needs tendin' to."

Starkey elbowed Roberts, missing a stroke of his oar and causing them to veer off course again. "Cap'n's plannin' on tendin' to the lady hisself, I wager," he said, winking blatantly at Roberts. "Going to play doctor wiv the doctor, are yeh, Cap'n?"

Barbossa said nothing but fastened a menacing stare on Starkey, and even as drunk as he was, Starkey knew better than to cross his captain when he looked like that. He shut up and went back to rowing as straight as he could manage.

Which wasn't very straight, and Barbossa drummed his nails impatiently on the gunwale, trying to keep cool. What Starkey and Roberts didn't understand was that the young lady wrapped in his frockcoat and sitting next to him had just informed him that she preferred his company to Bellamy's, and from the way she'd tried to kiss him on the beach just now before Turk had interrupted, he'd gotten the impression that he'd be able to get a lot of mileage from the gratitude she felt toward him for saving her life.

In other words, he was nearly certain that he was about to get laid.

Once they finally managed to come alongside the ship, what felt like an eternity later, Barbossa had helped Madeline to the ladder first, but took a moment to whack Roberts in the back of the head when the oarsman had craned his neck in an effort to look up her dress as she climbed.

Barbossa watched her struggle up the ladder, hindered because of the laceration on her leg, and he became increasingly concerned as she limped up, hauling herself along the rungs. Was she in a lot of pain? And just as important at the moment, was she in too much pain to have sex?

_Was there such a thing?_ he wondered, climbing up the ladder after her and hoping never to find out.

The whole time he was rummaging though the surgeon's chest, looking for what he needed to repair her laceration, he fretted about how he was going to manage to get her into his bed without making it seem like he was a selfish, uncaring bastard who was only interested in one thing.

True, he _was_ a selfish, (mostly) uncaring bastard, but who could blame him for focusing on that one thing when there was this (probably) willing little blonde thing, who was all curves and golden hair and eager (hopefully) to show her undying gratitude to him. With any luck at all (please, God!) she'd show him a lot more than her gratitude within the hour.

Not that she had much choice at the moment, with the condition her dress was in. The ragged garment was revealing a lot more of her front than she probably wanted, and a lot less of it (a _lot_ less!) than he wanted. He realized that there was no way she was going to be able to hold her dress closed and suture the laceration at the same time, and that meant one of two things: either she was going to have to ignore the fact that most of her chest was going to be on display while she sutured, or she was going to have to hold it closed and hike her skirt and let him handle her injury.

Oh, and how he wanted to handle the rest of her!

Barbossa hesitated at the cabin entrance long enough to compose himself, so that he wouldn't look like a hungry fox about to raid the henhouse, and opened the door.

She came toward him with a shy smile and he held out the medical supplies, trying his best not to break into a wolfish grin as she took them from him; evidently she'd decided on suturing her own laceration, which was going to leave him free to sit and watch as she bared a lot more of her legs to do so. He fought not to let his eyes wander too obviously to her exposed cleavage as she took the materials from him, and then scowled sharply as he realized she was walking away.

Damn! She had gone behind the privacy screen, ruining the lovely scenario that'd been playing out in his mind of sitting and enjoying the way her shredded dress kept falling open as she bared those fine legs in front of him. Such a lovely, enticing little prelude it would have been.

Disappointed but not defeated by a long shot, Barbossa poured two measures of rum, (getting more alcohol into her under the guise of an attempt to dull her pain certainly couldn't hurt!) and he sat down to answer her questions of how he'd been injured by the falling mast years ago, biding his time while she sutured and he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Long moments crept by, and after he'd finished his tale and was still hearing a lot of rustling behind the screen, he began drumming his nails on the table.

What the fuck was she doing back there?

Was she done? Was she avoiding him?

A soft curse in French from behind the screen caused him to frown, puzzled by what she was doing, but when realization dawned as to what was happening, a sly smile spread slowly across his lips.

She couldn't reach her wound and was going to need his help!

Images of her tugging up her skirt and bending over before him swam tantalizingly into his thoughts. "May, are you alright?" he asked, doing his darnedest to sound concerned through his nearly giddy anticipation.

"Yes," came the hesitant reply. "Just having a bit of a tricky time…"

_And you're going to have to ask for my help!_ He recalled how smooth her thighs had been when he'd inspected her wound in the woods, and he nearly skipped to the near side of the screen. "How are ye goin' about suturin' that, anyway?" he asked her on the other side.

_Say you're not. Say you're not!_

"I'm not, really," she admitted sheepishly from behind the screen.

Barbossa had to bite a knuckle for a moment to take the edge of lascivious glee out of his voice when he offered to help her. A couple shots of rum, a half-dozen sutures, and the remnants of her rag-tag dress and she would be parting company!

He crossed back to the table with a spring in his step and picked up more suture. "Step out here, the lightin' be better," he called softly, quickly downing another measure of rum in anticipatory celebration. He arranged his features into what he hoped was a suitably concerned expression, and determined to not let her see him look at her in anything akin to an inappropriate manner, he vowed he would not let his eyes drop to the little that was left of her shredded bodice.

Which would have worked out fine, if she'd been wearing said shredded bodice, but when he'd turned around to see her standing near the screen in nothing but his frockcoat, he couldn't help the involuntary double take he did, nor the way he blatantly let his eyes travel over her.

She stood there shyly, obviously self-conscious, and it was quite apparent that she was wearing _nothing_ but his coat. Barbossa let his eyes travel down her exposed legs to her bare feet, deciding that he wouldn't have an issue with it if she remained in such attire for the duration of the voyage.

A second or two before the situation would have become quite awkward, Barbossa managed to close his gaping mouth, trying to appear composed. "Ye look a fair sight better in me coat than I do," he said, causing her to smile in that shy fetching way she had. He realized that the only way they were going to get to anything else was to get her injury taken care of, and as far as he was concerned, it couldn't be soon enough.

"Come here and turn about," he said, motioning for her to come closer as he sat down in the chair and gathered up needle and suture. Obviously placing her complete trust in him, she did as she was told as he tried to focus on the small laceration and not the creamy skin of her thighs, a difficult task since he already knew how soft and warm her flesh was under his hands.

Gritting his teeth to steady himself, he reached for her silken skin, wondering if she knew the temptation she had placed at his fingertips. If she had any idea that part of him was tempted to forgo the sutures in favor of foreplay, or that he had already resigned himself to the fact that one way or another his coat was coming off her body, even if he had to cut the fine Incan silver buttons off himself, she never would have stood so close, wearing so little.

That very thought of drawing his dagger and cutting the buttons off one by one in a tantalizing manner (he could sew the blasted things back on later!) sent a rush of heat to his groin, and he was thankful that she was facing the other way as the leviathan from the depths caught wind of the fact that there was a scantily clad female just inches away, and it suddenly raised its head.

_Woman mine!_ it snarled possessively, deciding to venture forth from its lair.

Rolling his eyes at himself and the fact that he was fighting a losing battle with the beast, he mentally scolded it. '_Stand down! 'Tis not time yet!'_

_No?_

'_No!'_

_But the woman…_

'_Never ye mind just now!'_ Barbossa spat.

_Fine. _It retreated to pout.

Deciding that he should give Madeline some warning before jabbing her with a needle, he spoke softly to her. "Ready?"

_Aye!_ Once again the serpent from the nether regions enthusiastically came forth.

_'Not you!'_ Barbossa scolded.

_No?_

_'No! I meant Madeline!'_

_Is she ready?_

"Yes," Madeline said, bracing herself for the bite of the needle.

_She's ready!_

_'Not for that!_ _For suturin'!_

_Suturin?_ the disappointed reply came.

_'Aye.'_

_Not for…_

_'No!'_ Barbossa snarled, getting exasperated.

_Fine!_

Banishing the beast again, Barbossa placed a hand against her leg, ineffectively stifling a tiny whimper of longing as his fingers met her smooth skin.

"Are you alright?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Aye, lass, just stuck meself with the needle," he lied smoothly. "Hold still."

To Barbossa's great delight, Madeline endured the repair of her wound without uttering a sound. Not that he enjoyed having to sew her laceration closed, or put her through such discomfort, but it bode well for her tolerating the injury enough to end up between the sheets with him tonight.

She said nothing as he finished gently wiping the dried blood from her leg, and he realized that it was now or never. Unable to resist the temptation of her warm skin any longer, he risked running his hand along her uninjured thigh, ever so gently.

When she held her ground and said nothing despite the impropriety, he knew she was all but his...

--

**A/N:** I blame Belphegor's previous comments about the good captain's struggles with his unruly member for inspiring the agument that takes place between pirate and penis. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

He stood up, placed his hat and sword on the table, and reached for her golden hair. It was still partially braided, and he wanted to see it down and cascading across her shoulders, and then, of course, across his pillow once she was in his bed.

Which, judging by the way she leaned back against him as he gently undid her braid, should be in about eight and a half minutes.

"I was never so glad to see anyone as I was to see you tonight," she said softly, clearly unopposed to what he was doing.

Make that seven minutes.

"Really?" he asked, breathing the question near her ear and then leaning even closer, wondering how she was going to react as he kissed her neck.

"Really," she said breathily, "I knew that you'd save me when I heard you draw your sword." The slightest gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as his met her throat.

_Make that six minutes_, he thought, but then frowned slightly as lower currents began to stir again.

_Did she call for a sword to be drawn?_

'_Not yet! Ye'll scare her off, and then where will we be?' _ Barbossa demanded.

_It's not like she doesn't know where this is headed._

'_Aye, but you can wait another five minutes, can ye not?'_

_I suppose…_

Buoyed by his success so far, Barbossa decided to flirt. "Well, 'twould not be just any woman that I'd find meself drawing my sword for." He did nothing to hide the obvious innuendo in the statement as he tasted more of her skin, and then frowned to himself again.

_Oh, right. Like that's remotely true…_

'_Do ye mind? I'm tryin' to work here!'_

Barbossa allowed himself a sinful smile as he wrapped one arm around Madeline's slender waist and pulled her gently but firmly back against himself, and she did nothing to resist him undoing the first button on his coat with his other fingers.

Another button came undone, and realizing he'd better be somewhere in the vicinity of the bed, so he didn't end up ravishing her on the table, (in a lusty, appealing, but decidedly unromantic way that might put a lady off the first time) he took her by the hand and raised it to his lips. "M'lady," he whispered, meeting her trusting gaze.

Slowly he led her to stand before his bed and turned her around to face him, at long last claiming the kiss he'd desired from her. The fact that she so willingly kissed him back, simultaneously thrilled him and did away with his attempt to be gentle, and he forced himself to pull away after a moment when he realized how fierce his kiss had become. It wouldn't do to scare her now. Which following through on his fleeting thoughts of bodily throwing her on the nearby bed would probably do, so Barbossa tried a different tack to alleviate her anxiety and ensure her continued acquiescence.

"Ye seem a bit nervous, lass," he said gently. It was clear that her apprehension arose from the impending tryst with _him_, and not just an impending tryst. He wouldn't have the honor of being her first, he knew; even if that dishonorable bilge rat Nigel hadn't actually managed such a thing, that fucking prat Bellamy had seen to that. No matter. Even if Bellamy had had her first, he would not have her again, ever, and Barbossa had the satisfaction of knowing that Madeline had considered her evening with Bellamy a mistake.

"'Tis not as if this be yer first time…nor even yer first with a _pirate_," he said slyly, teasing her to lighten the mood, amused by the look of initial insult on her face. He knew she was smart enough to comprehend that he was only teasing her, and she retorted smartly, trading flirtatious banter with him as he shrugged himself out of his waistcoat and shirt, and then pulled her onto his lap.

A few more teasing comments had her laughing as he held her, effectively dissipating any tension, but Barbossa, accustomed to women who were much more promiscuous than the willing but naïve young lady in his arms, suddenly realized he was momentarily at a loss. Certainly it would not be appropriate to throw her down and roger her heartily, as jolly as the thought might be, for no seasoned Tortuga whore had her arms around his neck at the moment, as anxious to get it over with as her customers were to get it up. No common strumpet smiled at him so demurely, meeting him with a look of undisguised longing and admiration. No painted harlot touched him the way she did now, with tentative but tender caresses across his shoulders and chest, simultaneously setting fire to his desire for her and soothing his restless soul.

It was clear to him, as it would be to anyone, from her earnest and uncontrived manner, that she was falling in love with him, whether she wanted to or not, and despite the heat in his loins and the lust in his veins, he was determined to treat her with all the tenderness he could muster; she deserved no less.

"What ?" she asked him softly, clearly reading that there was something he'd been considering.

"Ye've heard me say so before, May," he said quietly, "and I'll say it again….yer a right fetchin' beauty, and especially when ye laugh."

She favored him with another of those coy smiles that he found so alluring, and he reached out and touched the gold silk that cascaded across her shoulders. Slipping his fingers behind her head, he drew her face to his and gently kissed her, once, and then again.

Yet again he kissed her, feeling her lips part eagerly for his tongue as he deepened the kiss into something much more intimate and intense, and the way she tightened her embrace around his neck in reaction both surprised and pleased him. Clearly, Barbossa thought, she hadn't been kissed this way enough, and he pledged to himself that he would attempt to remedy that this night.

Barbossa continued to kiss her hungrily, lost in his enjoyment of the feel of her fingers in his hair and her breasts against his chest, until a small cry escaped her against his mouth. She'd stiffened slightly, and he realized it was likely in reaction to where he'd inadvertently tightened his grip possessively and his long nails had dug into the back of her neck. He loosened his grasp, taking the opportunity to stroke her cheek and gather a deep breath, steeling himself against the wave of intense lust that had risen within him during the kiss.

Ever so gently he laid her down against the pillow, watching her intently as she allowed him to do so, in effect offering herself up to him. The thought of being so close to having her after weeks of steamy dreams and restless nights nearly overwhelmed him, and it was all he could do, as he moved to lie next to her, to fight against the urge to pin her to the bed, and take her without further ado.

More was at stake here than just bedding a wench, and while pouncing on her like a randy feline from the docks might be the fastest way to get some pussy, (God knew it worked for those pier cats!) it was unlikely to score any long lasting points with her if he were to flip her over, bite her neck and shag her from behind…

Swallowing hard as he fought back the intoxicating image her proximity had conjured in his mind, he suddenly realized that she was watching him expectantly from where she lay next to him; clearly she was leaving it to him to navigate their journey.

So be it. Steeling himself to be patient once more as he propped himself up on his elbow, it was his intent to whisper something affectionate and reassuring to her, but he was struck dumb by the sight of the amount of her flesh that his half unbuttoned coat left exposed. His eyes fell to her nearly bare breasts and then traveled lower, taking in her pale satin skin, the exposed soft flesh of her belly, and coming to rest on the last two buttons that stood between him and…

_Two buttons._

It would take but a pair of casual flicks of his fingers to undo them, and…

No. He would be patient.

Two buttons…

No. He would be gentle.

_Only two buttons_….

No. She'd placed her trust in him to navigate them through this safely.

Oh, but how he wanted to navigate south, with the determined way his compass was now pointing north.

Perhaps it would just be best to get the first time out of the way, Barbossa thought. Yes, that was the answer: pop the two buttons, have a quick, randy romp to take the edge off, and then he could keep his attention focused on tending to her needs. He reached for the buttons as he kissed her neck, but the way she trustingly exposed her throat to him prodded his sluggish conscience into action.

At least he could have the decency to warn her that he was about drop anchor in her harbor. Pulling his hand back, he spoke to her gently. "There be somethin' I would tell ye," he murmured in her ear.

"What is it?" she asked, meeting his blue gaze with her own. Her trusting manner gave him pause, and he frowned, trying to decide how put it to her gently.

Well, putting it to her gently wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but he admitted he needed to be delicate about the way he informed her lest she put up a struggle. Although…he had to admit that _that_ idea enticed him as well…but perhaps such adventures were best saved for a later date.

"I thought it best to say that if ye were wearin' a dress at the moment, this'd be the point that I'd be intendin' to part yeh from it."

There. That should give her ample warning. He'd been telling her since he met her that she'd be the first to know his intent.

She smiled sweetly at him and ran her soft fingers along his scarred cheek, even as he reached for the last two buttons again. "'Tis a duelin' scar," he informed her, intending to enthusiastically engage her with the weapon he'd currently drawn.

"Oh. I was just thinking how little I notice it anymore when I look at you," she whispered.

Damn! Barbossa yanked his hand back from the buttons as her simple statement blindsided him emotionally. Along with her genuinely affectionate touch, her comment had been made in earnest, letting him know in an uninhibited manner that she cared for him. Once again his torpid conscience opened a sleepy eye, yawned broadly, and made a half-hearted attempt at remonstration.

Mayhap he shouldn't just hoist his colors and board uninvited.

After all, he'd worked for a solid month at gaining her trust, something as valuable to him as getting the opportunity to uncross her legs…well, ok, so maybe not quite _that_ valuable, but still…

Do it! came the thought from below decks. You have her where you want her. Take her!

Barbossa glanced down across her half naked body next to him, and it sounded like good advice. His hand began to move towards the buttons once more.

_Don't!_ came the small, unfamiliar voice in the back of his mind. _Firing all guns and breeching her hull is not a good idea!_

Barbossa hesitated until influence from a baser instinct spoke again. _Of course it is! It's what she wants –set topsails and full speed ahead!_

Annoyingly, his conscience was fully awake now, and it stayed his hand again. _Being rammed and rodded indelicately is not what she wants. She's expecting you to make love to her._

_Which ultimately involves ramming and rodding, so why muddy the waters?_ came the lower reply. _Just take her!_

Don't, you'll ruin things! his conscience 've waited a month!You can wait ten more minutes!Seize the day! Carp diem!It's carpe diem and you should stow your carp for a bit longer!

_Look at her! Like a firm, rosy apple she is, just waiting to be plucked_…came the lower voice.

His conscience panicked a little and then hit back hard. _She loves you._

_Sweet…ripe…juicy…_taunted the creature below sea level.

_Aye, she looks good enough to eat_, admitted his conscience. _Erm…I mean…is that how you'd repay her for saving Turk?_

Barbossa was getting a headache. "Fuck!" he swore under his breath in frustration.

Exactly! Just grab the wench and f…

Another tender touch of her warm fingers on his cheek snapped Barbossa's attention back to Madeline from his inner turmoil, and he could see in her eyes she was dealing with one of her own, trying to trust him completely while fearing what a pirate might do with her.

He sighed heavily. When was the last time he'd had a woman like this? Maybe never. And when was the last time a woman had touched him like that –because she wanted to and not because she was getting paid for it? He couldn't recall.

"What is it that ye be doin' here, lass," he mused, half to her and half to himself, "in the bed of a scurvy old seadog, like me?"

"Well," she said, making as if to get up, "if you don't think I should be here…."

Man, beast and conscience all simultaneously panicked, and he yanked her back down against the bed, perhaps a little rougher than he intended to. Maybe he shouldn't waste any more time and take the chance that she might actually change her mind. Not that he was likely to give her a choice in the matter at this point.

"Whether ye should be, and whether you are, be two entirely different matters, M'lady." He kissed her a little roughly and then whispered to her as he reached for the next button on his coat. "It be too late to alter course, now."

The first button slipped open, and as he reached for the last one his conscience nagged him for attention once more, causing him to focus on how rigid with anxiety the young woman next to him was.

_You've frightened her enough in the past. Put her mind at ease –it'll pay off in the long run._

Barbossa's fingers undid the last button of their own volition, but he made a supreme effort and gazed into Madeline's eyes, praying that her answer to the question he was about to ask her was yes.

"Do ye trust me?" he asked her gently.

"Yes," she breathed softly, and her answer put his conscience at ease enough for him to proceed.

"Are ye afraid of me?" he asked several kisses later in a husky whisper. Her courage in spite of the obvious look in her eyes that said 'yes' pacified the beast enough for him to be gentle, and all that was left was not a pirate and a doctor, but a man and a woman, and that was as it should be their first night together.


End file.
